


We Won’t Have To Hide (When You’re In My Arms)

by SilverShortyyy



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: People tend to do special things on Valentine’s Day.But every day with Carol was already special, and every moment with Carol even more so. Therese couldn’t ask for more, really.And yet... Seeing men and women out, dancing and looking so in love, makes her wonder. But, as it is with Carol, all of her uncertainties and not-so-amiable musings drift away in seconds.





	We Won’t Have To Hide (When You’re In My Arms)

With her hand in his, she is led on through the marble floor, through the people and crowds all standing away from the center of the hall. Her satin gown trails behind her, swept away in his excitement, in her captivation, in the way he turns back and pulls her over, over beneath the giant, golden chandelier, and smiles at her.

He bows, her hand still in his, and she smiles when he kisses the glove covering her skin.

Around them, countless others begin to separate from the throng of people by the walls, some leaving glasses of wine and champagne on distant tables and trays, others taking the risk to bring it with them, clasped between the hands of two lovers never more in love.

There is an old couple winding their way around. The old woman smiles, and the old man laughs deeply, and they dance with the restriction of old age but the fluidity of youth. And they’re in love, so in love—the old woman’s cotton dress of baby blue falls on her body almost like a wedding dress.

The ceiling high windows showcase all of it, from the tables full of food and drink, cakes and courses lined up all for the delightment of the guests and invitees. It is barely six o’clock, but many have asked for early leave from work, and most with plans that last well into the night.

“How wonderful it would be,” a young woman says to her companion, their distance too far to be mistaken for a sordid affair, too close to be named as only friendship or mere acquaintance, “if we could dance like that.”

“How wonderful indeed,” the older woman says, and there’s a twinkle in her gray eyes, a softness and a brightness that prevails over all the cold breezes and harsh corners and cloudy hazes of later winter. She turns to the young woman beside her, a young woman named Therese, and her lips imperceptibly curve upward. Therese is not oblivious to it though; if anything, Therese sees it much clearer than most. “Never mind that. We’ll have our own privacy for it.”

Therese lets a giggle escape her lips. Oh how girlish a giggle sounds, and yet how warming in the cool air. Without a hand to hold on the icy streets, she’s left to have to bury her hands in her coat, though of course cloth will never be at par with the warmth of someone else. Especially one who yields her favor.

“Alright then. I’m holding onto your promise, Carol.”

Carol smiles. “And I, you.”

Their backs grow smaller and smaller in the New York fog, of people and winter and the slightest kiss of snow. But beyond the haze of coats and concrete, without even a glance on their faces, one can see the odd relaxation in the shoulders beneath the fur coat, and the curious jump in the step bound by cream-colored heels. But it is odd in only that one would think not to be able to find it in such a place, or that one would never know to find such jump nor spring in such a busy city. But it is there, and so are they; their backs seem to cast a smile around them, and the busy streets of New York fade, leaving only them, and the unique air of the world for the day.

Therese’s apartment door closes behind them, and she and Carol hang up their coats by Therese’s closet.

“I don’t know how you keep living in this pigeon hole.” Carol says, the usual snark in her voice. “There’s barely enough room to let loose!”

“Oh, says the woman who’d let loose before I did.” Therese thinks back to a night when Carol had come over. It was one of their weekly dinners at Therese’s, and since they knew that weekend dinners out would never be enough for them (and would be too expensive), they decided to eat at each other’s apartments within the week. Usually, they’d have dinner once or twice at Therese’s during the week, then the rest at Carol’s.

That night, Carol had come over with two big bottles of champagne.

 _“What’s this for?”_ Therese remembers saying. She had been extremely confused to, because as far as she knew, there hadn’t really been anything to celebrate. Sometimes Carol went into moods, so maybe it was one of those?

Carol had set down the champagne at the kitchen table, starting to become busy with the plates and whatnot before looking back up at Therese.

_“Oh, these? Nothing, darling, just thought you’d like it tonight.”_

Carol’s smile then should have gave her all the forewarning she needed.

Instead, of course, she had stumbled blindly through the night, wondering on the mischief and never coming to a conclusion, that is, until Carol started obviously drinking a little too much.

_“Oh no no no no. No, darlin’— Therese— Damn darling, I just want another glass. I brought them for Christ’s sake!”_

_“No, Carol, you’ve had enough. Even if you won’t be going home tonight, I can’t let you have any more!”_

_“But I’m already home.”_ And it had caught Therese off guard, this sudden line, this sudden chain of words, and to anyone with a lover it could mean much, but she felt she had never once read nor heard those words in the certain way Carol said it. Never in that way that it seemed to claim her, root her, _ground_ her all the while sending her head into the clouds.

Therese had cleared her throat, tried to shake it off her mind, because as much as she would have liked to drown in those words (and in Carol’s husky, pouty voice, no less), she’d be damned to let Carol suffer a hangover the next day worse than anything either of them had ever lived through.

_“Carol, no, you’ve already had enough!”_

_“Come on, darlin’, please? Just one more, one more. C’mon, darlin’.”_ Therese remembers trying not to laugh as Carol began to throw a fit. She’d have never in a million years thought she’d live to see the day when Carol—calm, composed, always rehearsed Carol, though letting loose sometimes but never quite losing hold of the situation (her Carol is too proud to let go of the reins, much like Therese is too proud to renounce Carol)—would just let it all go and—

—To be brief, act like a child.

 _“Therese!”_ Carol had whined, cheek on the cloth and body leaning over the table. Carol had pouted, jutted out her lower lip and widened her eyes while her arms flopped around, useless and awkwardly hanging off the table. _“Your honey needs more champagne! Indulge her tonight, would you, please?”_

And then Carol’s pout had begun trying to hide a smile as Therese made her way over from her side of the table. Therese had known what might come next; she had not suppressed her smile, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to.

 _“Carol, no more! You can’t drink any more tonight! Carol!”_ And Therese had started laughing, because Carol had grabbed hold of Therese’s skirt and fell off the chair, and Therese had finally let out her laugh that could not be held back.

Oh, Carol looked absolutely adorable like that. Therese had thought about running to get the camera for a picture, but had thought she didn’t want to miss any bit of the rarity.

The endearing, endearing rarity. One she would never forget, nor ever not cherish.

Carol had almost throw a fit that night, tugging and pulling at Therese until they were both on the ground, and Carol was soon on top and Therese at the bottom. Therese had thought the sight looked all the more delectable when Carol was that drunk, but she had thought, not tonight, maybe another when Carol wasn’t so inebriated.

 _“Let’s get to bed, Carol. God knows you’re too drunk to bathe.”_ Carol had lain down on Therese’s lap then, eyes looking up to Therese who’d propped herself up on one elbow. Therese’s free hand combed through Carol’s soft, soft hair.

Therese remembers staring into Carol’s eyes, and in their pause of sobriety, Carol brought her hand up to cup Therese’s cheek, and pulled her down.

Carol’s lips were soft, were always soft, _are_ always soft, but that night it tasted of champagne, and Therese had never since lived it down that champagne made Carol turn at least thirty or so years younger.

In that pause of sobriety, Therese felt rather than heard it when Carol whispered.

_“Let’s go to bed, sleepyhead.”_

“Well.” Carol says, in her usual proud air, but with a blush in her cheeks no doubt at the recollection and countless teasings of that one night. Carol slaps her gloves onto her hand once, feet just stopping short past Therese’s bedroom doorway. “As I said, it was Abby’s fault, really. She wouldn’t stop pestering me about trying to get drunk with you around. I mean, not like I’d never, but I’m sure she got what she asked for.”

Carol pushes off the doorframe, gloves gripped on both hands as she stoops just enough to have her lips brush the shell of Therese’s ear.

“I’m pretty sure you got something good from it too.”

Therese flushes deeply, and slaps Carol on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Well, if you’re quite done there, I’d like you to keep your promise.” Therese turns, and she stares up at Carol, so close, close enough to have mere inches between their lips, close enough for mere steps to close the distance. “I’d like it fulfilled sooner rather than later, you know.”

“But of course, my angel.” _Flung out of space._ Therese bites down a smile. Those were the words Carol had said to her that time, their first lunch together. Carol had called her strange; Therese did not have to look back to know Carol had always found her strange.

If she had been normal, they would’ve never found each other out of all the normal people out there, wouldn‘t they?

“But first!” And Carol steps back, Therese left slightly disappointed at the distance. But the smile in Carol’s eyes has her captivated. Therese smiles herself. How was she so lucky to have Carol find her in the most unlikely of places? “A track, a beautiful track to dance to.”

Carol pulls out a record from Therese’s collection at the bookcase, and slips it onto the phonograph.

Therese thinks she’d never seen that record before. The familiar feeling comes over her, the same one that rushed over her when Carol had been drunk and said ‘ _But I’m already home_ ’, and she feels a warm feeling spread from her chest. Carol would always leave parts of her here, and Therese had never bothered trying to collect anything she forgot at Carol’s place unless she needed it for work the next day.

 _“Why don’t you just live together already? You practically are, aren’t you?”_ Dannie had never once cared about their relation, that she and Carol were both women, that the world wanted everyone to tell her and Carol it was wrong to have a love like this. He said he didn’t see why he should care; he said he’d rather see such pure happiness, such radiant love, than faux bliss and deep-rooted misery.

“Come here.” And Therese follows, puts her arms around Carol’s waist. Therese can smell Carol’s perfume from here, and Carol’s shampoo, and everything that is Carol, and she finds herself wanting to drown in it, wanting to live in it, wanting to revel in its wonder forever.

Carol’s arms are gentle around Therese’s waist. Gentle, but firm. And Therese loves it, this way Carol hold her, this way Carol pulls her close, this way Carol buries herself into Therese’s hair, and she feels Carol relax against her, a heavy sigh leaving those painted lips.

“I love you, Therese.”

Therese almost giggles. But it isn’t a moment for giggles.

So she smiles, and she pulls Carol closer.

“Don’t you know I love you, Carol?”

Therese feels rather than sees Carol smile, and she thinks—they both think—that maybe Valentine’s Day in private isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
